


Arkham Asylum

by LeafRunner



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Arkham psychiatrist, Batfamily Feels, For years to come likely, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insanity, Mental Institutions, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:58:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafRunner/pseuds/LeafRunner
Summary: Gotham is a dark city full of dark people. The worst of those people are sent to Arkham Asylum. No one gets better there. It is a madhouse. Even the workers are insane there.Dr. Mariana Jolie has been working there for years and she knows she is crazy. But she is less crazy than everyone else so the Gotham courts choose her to analyze the Wayne Family.AU--- Going to state right here- this work is on hiatus, maybe even abandoned. I hate to write about things that I don't already understand or have never experienced. But I had this idea in my head and wanted to get it written out. If any of you read this story and feel inspired, take it and make something amazing. Make it your own.





	1. Work

When you are surrounded by insanity, you tend to become a bit cracked yourself. My trick for survival is to know when it is okay to let that insanity lose. Not all of my coworkers understand this concept. After working at Arkham, all of us are crazy. Some of us just wear it better.

I've been at Arkham Asylum for eleven years. I remember visiting it before it became a prison for the super powered. That's why I came here, to help people. But some people can't be helped and all I do when I'm here is tear myself farther apart. And yet, I can not bring myself to leave.

The break room door is a heavy, ugly metal door that has bullet holes and scratches down the outside. It was replaced three weeks ago and is already looking worn. There's a code needed to get in but Dr. Jen Mickle opens the door and pushes past me, a blank expression plastered on her face. Poor girl. It's her second day at Arkham. I give her a half hour before she quits. I usually try to keep newbies out of the break room for their first week, as that's what always gets them.

"Hehehe, they don't know. Shhh. It's a secret, don't tell an-" Dr. Watersbuli is talking to himself in the mirror, but that's a normal occurrence after what Two-face did to him. Man is cracked, no shattered. But he still attempts to do his job and we don't have enough psychiatrists at Arkham to fire one for a little issue like being insane. 

"Mariana," The three at the coffee table wave me over. "I just upped Cobblesworth's dosage so keep an eye on him, kay?" Our pharmacist, Dr. Timothy Ling, raises an eyebrow as I stiffen at his words. He's newer as well, so he wouldn't know.

'I'll keep an eye on him." My words are softer than usual but everyone at the table can pick up on the hostility, though the older ones know it's aimed at Cobblesworth, not them. It's unprofessional to loathe a client but it's hard to smile at a man who kidnapped you and attempted to saw off your legs. Lucky for me, his blade was blunt so the doctors were able to sew them back together but the nerve and just overall damage was bad enough that I couldn't work for months and I still have swollen, ugly scars and a limp that looks just as painful as it is.

Madi Hather, the secretary, slips a coffee in my hands and gestures to the table. There is vodka on the table so I spike my coffee, before leaning back and drinking deeply. Yeah, I needed this. None of our funders know but the coffee is always spiked at Arkham. We could not handle what we see or hear every day without our constant buzz. We keep bottles of alcohol in the fridge like churches keep creamer.

I know I'm an alcoholic but that's not my insanity. There is more to my madness than a case too many of beer.

Pamela Isley (who Gothamites just call Poison Ivy) claims she likes beer, but I can't take her any. Her cell can never have any organic materials in it and we have to make her meals without any plant life in it. Maybe we are overthinking it but she regularly seduces doctors and guards, kills them, and escapes into Gotham, so we try not to take any chances. She has even attempted to seduce me. Fat chance. I haven't found anyone attractive for almost a decade. In my work, I see the worst of people every day and have almost never seen the best of them. I don't trust anyone, not even my coworkers. I learned my lesson after Harleen.

We all drink quietly, minding our own business. Thinking about life, patients, wives, husbands, or madness, which is constantly on my mind when I am here. At Arkham, the insanity seems to ooze out of the cells and drip down the walls until in is buried in your skin and no amount of scrubbing can get it out.

I'm here all day today. One of our doctors got stabbed by a shank Thomas Elliot (Hush) had carved out of a plastic cross someone gave him. Idiots. Because of that bit of stupid, I am here from 7 to 7. All twenty-four hours. Which is actually a normal day for me. At least Arkham pays well. At this point, I'm up to $230 an hour. Insane pay but they can't pay annual wages because most don't last that long. I only get paid that much because I have survived this long. Eleven years in this mad house pays well. Really, $230 is a bit of an estimate, as I also get paid overtime most days I work. I can't think of a single week in all the eleven years that I haven't had to work overtime.

The salary is the reason psychiatrists come and the inmates are why they leave. We haven't had a normal crazy since the Atom's ex and she was responsible for three deaths, one of them a superheroes wife. We get the worst of the worst here. Amanda Waller, the inventor of the Task Force X, commonly known as the Suicide Squad, comes here bimonthly to ask if we "got" anything for her as if we are a library and she is checking out a book. I think it's probably worse that Madi always has a candidates list ready and waiting.

As a doctor of the mind, I should be trying to heal people, not sell them off to a devil... But I guess, after this long of being in the system, I have lost my hope in recovery.

That is the thought I end my coffee break with. A nice, encouraging thought to bring me hope and encourage compassion toward my patients.

The hallways' lights are flickering and they make the bloodstains on the wall eerier than they are. I can hear the clicks of the steps of others but my own footsteps are silent, though Bane still hears me coming. He's one of my favorites, yet I don't even know his true name. The man is not insane, not like the rest. He is a scarily determined, vengeful addict. But not insane.

"Doctor." His bass echoes through the hallway. "Shall we pick up from where we left off?"

I check the security of his cell and check reports on his actions around the cell before I come into view. He wrinkles his brow at the sight of me as if he had forgotten the horror of my face. "Depends. Are you going to try and weasel me into talking about nuclear science and homemade explosives?"

"A simple conversation, dear doctor. I meant no harm."

"I'm sure." I scan the cell and the surrounding area for traps or hijackers and enter the consultation room. It is beside the cell and is strong enough to survive a direct hit from a missile. Before it was simply bulletproof glass and brick walls but Bane tore his bed off the wall and threw it through the glass so they had to update. I secure the door behind me and study him through the glass. "You look tired, Bane. Not enough sleep? Too many nights up doing 'calisthenics'?"

He grins at me, fierce and hungry, a killer's smile. "You know I would hate to let myself go."

I have seen the videos of the workouts he does. They are a creation of his own, mixing fighting and meditation. I doubt even Jackie Chan could keep up. I switch to French as I start on inquiries. He and I had made a mutual understanding that if he didn't threaten me blatantly, then I would help him keep up his studies. A tiring prospect for me as my intelligence level is nowhere near his. However, it's nice to have a few hours without death threats. At not direct ones.

We talk about science and meditation for almost three hours, switching between five different languages. I work on teaching him Hebrew through immersion. After an hour, we are communicating in it. Bane is just that smart. He understands things almost immediately and I have never been able to trick him. That is what makes him so dangerous.

I check all security measures as I leave, putting his cell into lockdown. One of the security guards double checks my work as I continue on.

Bane's mind is brilliant and I wish I could enjoy it without fearing for my life, but c'est la vie.

I won't go into detail for you about my day, as it was a very long day. Nothing productive today- of course, what was I expecting? A miracle?- I talk with six other patients before retreating to analyze videos. Honestly, I just sat in the darkroom and rocked myself. Visiting the Scarecrow (I suppose I should call him Jonathan Crane but Scarecrow suits him better) does terrible things to my brain. I could be him. He was me. He was me. I may be him someday.

I managed a half hour session with Victor Fries but I was so done. I left as soon as my replacement came in. I made it to a diner before I crashed.


	2. More Work- because I'm not busy enough

The lunch crowd wakes me up. I check my watch blearily. 11 o'clock. Work is in two hours. I raise a hand to the waitress who traipses to my table. 

"Did I eat last night?" My voice sounds like a monster is trying to claw its way out of my throat.

"I'm not the same waitress as last night but she told me that you asked for a salad and fell asleep before it came."

"I'll have a salad now then. Hold the meat." My head thunks back to the table. "Coffee too. Black. Thick. Borderline toxic."

"Yes, sir." The blonde sashays her way to the kitchen as I glare at her back. I may not be the most attractive female but I'm not that masculine. I storm toward the bathroom to check my reflection.

....I suppose I see where she was coming from. The scars on my face are plum purple today from sleep and my eyeliner all smudged under my eyes, making me look more exhausted than I am. I am a bit hollow-cheeked from my refusal to eat when at the Asylum and my buzz cut hair does me no favors. Add all that with my voice today, and I can definitely see why she thought I was a man.

I clean off my eyeliner and debate reapplying it. Nope. Not worth the hassle. I straighten my wrinkled button down and smooth my slacks. My hair gets a hand to it before I remember that I cut it. No hair to pull back now. The bathroom is left behind for the salad that is waiting for me. Salad and a coffee, if one could call it that. It is a black sludge that smokes and stinks. Perfect. 

Half of my salad and half my hourly wage is left on the table as I climb into my beast of a car. A black, armored, bullet-proof Humvee. If it was anymore solid, it would be the Batmobile. Which, I checked for, but there were none available for private or public use. Don't know where the Bat got his but it's a one of a kind.

The Arkham gates welcome me back and I go through the entire security procedure to get in. It is all automated and takes nearly fifteen minutes to get through. There are no security guards out here, too many trucks with explosives have crashed into the gate in the past. 

The only people that get replaced in the Asylum more than psychiatrists are the security guards. They get paid near as much as I do. Plus the bribe deal. We haven't had a dirty guard since management started offering to match and double any offer for a bribe that the guards received. Makes me feel about .2 times safer, which still isn't enough to make me comfortable walking into the building.

I check the list of employees and we are two shorter than yesterday-or rather this morning. Pity. More work for me. I decide to start with Victor Fries who I had abandoned rather abruptly last night. He had been a bit abrasive last night but not enough to cut my visit short. That was purely personal.

"Dr. Fries." I lock the door behind me. "My apologies for leaving so abruptly last night. It was very rude." He stares at me impassively, catatonically, from behind the glass. "Shall we continue from where we left off? I believe we were talking about your bro-"

"My wife needs me. She could be dead now and I'd never know." His voice is a whisper. "She needs me and I am TRAPPED HERE!!" He stands and throws his lunch tray at the window. Next time, I'd have the staff remove that before I came in. I had heard about his wife-dead, then frozen with cryogenic in hopes that he could resurrect her -many times in fact. And I was very accustomed to the rant that follows, no need for me to hear it again. I left, ignoring his insults. I had better things to do.

I send a report to the head of security so he'd know Fries was moody and would be prepared if it escalated. Jamal, a doctor who used to work here, had forgotten to do that once. If he hadn't been killed in the chaos following Jervis Tetch (The Mad Hatter)'s escape, I would have killed him myself. His stupidity cost us eight lives, not including his own worthless one.

I swing by the whiteboard that has my schedule for the day on it. It has to be a whiteboard because schedules are always fluctuating. Supposedly, I only have to work twelve hours today. Fat chance. I'll probably be stuck here until nine A.M. I am supposed to counsel three inmates today as well as go over videos. Might as well get started.

Madi has some files for me and knowing her, she's in the break room. The door groans open after I enter the code. It is more of a disaster zone than usual. There are two nurses crying in the corner, a doctor (medicinal doctor not psychiatrist) passed out at the table, and someone is screaming. Add that to the two strangers in suits and you have the reason I hate the break room.

"Madi, could I have the files on Harvey Dent's family life." I set down my clipboard near her arm and steal the bottle next to her. "That report about safety issues needs to be in by tomorrow and can you mail these?" Envelopes are set on the table beside the alcohol. Gin. Ugh. I tip it back and set the half-empty bottle on the table. At least it perked me up. A call from behind startles me though.

"Dr. Mariana Jolie!" One of the suits starts toward me. I don't like the way he's walking. It's the walk of someone who has never been told no. "You are just the person I need. How would you like to get a little extra money?"

I like money. "Why are you asking?"

"A private citizen of Gotham and his family needs counseling. Would you be willing to assist? Minimal hours but excellent pay." He looks affronted when I snort at him.

"Sir, I work with the criminally insane everyday, I don't think you want me around civilians." 

"Doctor, I have a dilemma." He comes to stand close, like he's telling me a secret. I step away. I don't trust people and I don't like them to be within stabbing distance. "My client needs an acclaimed psychiatrist and the only qualified psychiatrists in this city either work at Gotham or have worked here in the past. And I'm sure you understand why I can't hire a past employee."

Past employees are crazy, even more so than the inmates here. That's why they don't work here. People who quit on the first day usually decide not to be psychiatrists or move out of Gotham. The only capable psychiatrists in Gotham are in the Asylum. Capable being a very loose term.

"How long of a job will it be?"

A smile bursts across his face at my words. "You come in biweekly and you will only be needed for six months, and then once a month the next year and then once a year after that."

"When do I start?"

"Next week Thursday. Just contact our client, Bruce Wayne, if you have anymore questions."

Bruce Wayne, huh? That could be interesting.


	3. Lawyer's POV

"Damian Wayne, do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

The kid glares at the judge and agrees petulantly. He's not helping our case at all. I lean over to my client.

"I thought you talked to him, Mr. Wayne. Does he not understand what is at stake?" Mr. Wayne ignores me and just watches the proceeding intently.

"Has your father, Bruce Wayne, ever touched or struck you in such a way that has left a mark?" 

Once again the kid is glaring but it is more indignant this time. "My father would never dare lay a finger on me. My mother would kill him for it."

"Would your mother ever-" 

"Say another word and I'll kill you."

The judge gives Damian a baleful look and he slouches with a glare. "Has he ever done anything to cause you injury?" 

"What an idiotic question! Why would I willingly stay in his home if he harmed me?"

"Young Mr. Wayne, please just answer the question."

"He has never caused me harm." Damian folds his arms and stares the judge down.

"How about your siblings?"

There is a moment of hesitation, during which I hear the Drake son swear behind me while the Grayson ward muffles a laugh.

"Chill, Timmy-bird. He has too much pride to fabricate something to get you arrested. He'd rather kill you himself."

"That's comforting." I can feel the look Timothy Drake levels on Damian. It burns into the back of my skull.

"Of course not. As if they could hurt me even if they tried." He snorts and leans back, Meeting the death glare of the Drake boy. I can feel the tension radiating between them.

"Can you explain how you got the bruises?"

"My family does many physical activities and it is not uncommon for us to get a bit marked up."

"Your teachers have told us that all of Bruce Wayne's wards have came to class looking battered before. Sometimes with black eyes, or broken fingers, or acting a bit stiff. Would you say these activities are unsafe?"

"We are perfectly safe and I see no reason for all these questions." The child climbs out of the booth and storms out of the building with the Grayson ward following after.

"Mr. Bruce Wayne, please approach the bench." My client stands. Holy Batman, I forgot how tall he is. He towers over me and with all his muscle, I feel like a child next to him. "As your son has left, and we are not prepared to deal with the stress of forcing him back on the bench," a feeling I completely empathize with considering the fuss he made going up to the bench in the first place. "We cannot make a decision. However, if you agree to allow your wards and yourself to see a psychiatrist biweekly for a year, monthly the next year, and then yearly following that, I believe we can allow this matter to be forgotten. You have a blended family and I believe that without a mother figure in the house, your sons and daughter may need someone to share their feelings with so it doesn't come in outbursts like these."

The opposing lawyer approaches the bench, he is going to do something slimy, I know it. " Your honor, may I suggest that it be a city acclaimed doctor. We wouldn't want for the Wayne's to have to deal with anyone second-best."

"Of course. The doctor must be approved by us before being hired. And they must be from Gotham."

That dirtbag.

\-----

"Look, Mr. Wayne." I wrap my hands around a tea prepared by the Wayne butler. "Anyone I get from this city is going to be mad. You are probably going to have to bribe them to get the results you want as they will be incapable of making logical judgements."

"Isn't there a single doctor in all of Gotham who isn't crazy?" Richard Grayson leans across the table.

"Doctor, yes. Psychiatrist, no. They have all worked at the Asylum and no one makes it out of there sane."

"Can we just find the least crazy one then?" Tim Drake doesn't even bother to look up, just speaks into his coffee cup.

"There is no measure of crazy or not crazy, but I'll do my best."

\-----

Arkham Asylum is dark and haunting. The security measures take an entire hour for me to actually get into a staff room. And once in there, I feel like I've entered a madhouse.

A woman is screaming, clawing the walls. A man smiles at his own reflection, talking to it. I see a couple nurses lying on the floor, sobbing.

"Am I in the wrong room? Is this a patients' ward?" The woman who escorted me just laughs.

"Welcome to the Break Room." She leaves me and grabs a bottle of gin out of the fridge and splashes some in her coffee before lounging in a chair at the table, ignoring me. My assistant holds out the files for me. I flip through them, comparing them to the people around me. They are all on my list of approved doctors but they are all raving lunatics. 

All the lights go out for a second and screams fill the room before they come back on. What is going on in this madhouse?

A woman enters the room. She has buzzcut white hair, though I know she is under forty. Her face is sallow and scarred and bags hang under her piercing grey eyes. Dr. Mariana Jolie. One of the leading psychiatrists at the Asylum for years. She has survived over six hundred attacks and is most definitely insane but right now she's my best bet. At least she's not talking to the wall.

I approach her as she gulps gin straight from the bottle. "Dr. Mariana Jolie!"


	4. Meeting the Waynes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN--With the New 52 and constant reboots of the Batman series, I am just going to go with this---
> 
> \--Tim Drake= adopted (17)
> 
> \--Damian Wayne= blood son (10)
> 
> \--Cassandra Cain= adopted (17)
> 
> \--Dick Grayson= ward(21)
> 
> \-- Jason Todd= ward- declared dead so it is obsolete to the law (19)
> 
> \--Bruce Wayne= 32
> 
> I am not going to follow comic book timelines, nor shall I always follow their characterizations. I may mention events that happen in their past, or I may skip right over them. I don't have direct access to many comic books and so I shall take some creative license. If you feel I do injustice to a character, you can message me and I will fix it or explain my reasoning. However, none of the DC Universe characters or their stories belong to me.
> 
> If anyone wants to try to figure it out, this is the page I was trying to puzzle through. ---https://comicvine.gamespot.com/forums/batman-286/which-robins-did-bruce-officially-adopt-754797/ ---I might be able to follow it if I wasn't to busy laughing at the insults. "I think you have the brain capacity of a fish."---

The tofu dog is nasty. It tastes like plastic and I'm getting the idea that it actually once was plastic but they put it in a bun just to mess with me. At this point, it doesn't really matter. I worked all day at the Asylum and I haven't eaten since yesterday morning so plastic is sitting pretty good right now. Besides, it is easier to eat a dog while driving than to eat a salad. 

I am only halfway to the Wayne Manor and it's looking like I'm going to be late on my first day, not that I really care. I didn't even think I was going to make it at all until Dr. Matthews promised to cover my shift and not just this one but all the ones where I have to go because of my new job. Not a bad deal, except I told Matthews that I would cover any of his shifts, anytime he needed, which I know he will take advantage of. Mentally I am preparing for the workload I know he's going to give me.

The Wayne job pays very well though and might be worth the stress. I am only needed on Wednesdays and Sundays at 1 o'clock P.M. Of course, sessions could last for hours, especially since I have to get through five people a day. Let's hope they are more sane than my usual patients. 

\----

The butler is less than impressed when he opens the door. I can feel him weighing my worth as he welcomes me in, though his face, voice, and actions are nothing but courteous. I can tell though, he doesn't like me. I consider people reading a sixth sense that I've developed along with the rest of my Arkham survival skills.

The house is lavish and excellently decorated, if you liked ostentatiousness. I've seen nicer so I keep my expression neutral.

I can feel the displeasure of the butler from my side. Perhaps he expected me to be more chatty or more in awe. I could care less what he wants.

We enter a huge solarium where Bruce Wayne and his wards are waiting. They are all solemn and I feel very unwanted. Nothing new there. They all stare at me for a bit before the butler clears his throat. A smile instantly appears on Bruce Wayne's face, making me distrust him all the more.

"Welcome Dr. Jolie! What an honor to have you with us! I have heard so much about your work at the Arkham Asylum." He is overly friendly and reaches for my hand before I glare him down. One of the wards snorts a laugh at Mr. Wayne's sudden hesitance. I let my gaze drag across them all. The eldest smiles at me, but I ignore it, moving onto the disgust and haughtiness of the child next to him. The third son, sitting alone on the love seat, watches me as well, analyzing me just as I do him. The daughter stares at me, as if reading my mind. I dislike her immediately, she sends shivers down my spine.

"How would you like me to start?" My voice sounds better today, not much better but better. I suppose that's probably better so I don't immediately scare them all off. Makes it hard to talk to someone when they are trembling and shaking in the corner. 

"Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself and how you plan to do this." Mr. Wayne stinks into a couch and gestures for me to follow his example. "How long do you figure each session will take? We are a very busy family and I'd hate for my sons to be kept from their own work."

"That depends all on you. We can last anywhere from thirty minutes to five hours." Absently, I trace the scars mapping my arm. "I have been in sessions that have lasted days. It is all a matter of the flow and how open you are." 

"What do you want to know?" The youngest, Damian, folds his arms and gives me a glare worthy of Bane. "If they are stupid questions like at the trial, I won't bother answering."

"I read the reports and I'll try to avoid such drivel. However, I am required to ask similar questions at some points, so you will just have to suffer through it as will I." I despise looking for the dirty details. I'd rather just let them tell me at their own pace. Besides, it is all about how they cope. That is why I spend so much time just talking to my patients and letting them rant, so I can see their character and how they deal with stress. However, I've gotten tired of the rants of my Asylum patients so I will sometimes simply walk out on them. Perhaps if they said something different each time- but nope. It's the same rant, every time. It doesn't help that I've been working with the same patients daily for years on end.

"Your file said you only had a high school degree. How in the world did Arkham hire you?" Timothy Drake studies me, a mix of suspicious and curious. 

"I interned for 5 years before they hired me. By that point, they were short on doctors and the remaining ones vouched for me as it was in their own self-interest. More doctors, less hours."

"So, officially you are not a doctor." Drake's tone is victorious and just a bit smug. 

"Officially, no. But I have passed the tests needed, even at a college level. I am completely capable diagnosing you. For example, you are insecure and feel the need to prove yourself, perhaps feeling insecure from a recent trauma. Likely, you feel threatened by your new brother's presence as you have seated yourself as far as possible from him, while still appearing natural. He, however, is at the side of Grayson, who you see as a hero figure, yet one who has betrayed you, if the glances you have given his way is any sign. You distrust easily, have likely been neglected by someone close to you, and yet you are intelligent enough that you seem as though you could do anything you put your mind to." Straightening my shirt cuffs, I glance up at him. "You are insecure but you have no need to be. Was that pretty close?"

Damian snorts in the silence. "Tt-- Feeling inferior to me, Drake? As you should." The boy whose face had been impassive through my monologue suddenly looks murderous and I imagine if I wasn't there, he'd be attacking Damian. Pity they are so reserved. Makes my job a lot more difficult.

Mr. Wayne laughs smoothly, trying to cover the tension. "Boys will be boys. Though both should know better than to argue in front of company."

"Au contraire, Mr. Wayne, our sessions will go much smoother if your sons and yourself act like natural and not as puppets. Physicalness and unrestrained language is what gives me a true idea of what is going on in my patients' heads."

"Myself?" 

"Yes, your lawyer informed me that you were to be analyzed as well." A shadow passes over his face and it seems more natural on his face than the plastic smile he wore earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this fic 1? 2? years ago and wasn't pleased so I dropped it. I published the first three chapters as an ultimatum to myself to force myself to finish it. We'll see if it works.


	5. One step back and Two forward

The Waynes are masters at small talk. After my diagnosis of Timothy Drake, they all shut down. They all chatted and gossiped, seeming light-hearted and perfect. Outcome- a useless day. Many useless days. They can all smile and flirt (thinking of Grayson here) all they want but it will not reward them at all. Just make us all more frustrated. 

I take another swig of alcohol and leave the break room. The flickering lights mess with my exhausted eyes and I let the wall catch me before I fall. It's already been two weeks with the Wayne's and I have nothing. Eleven years at the Asylum and I have accomplished nothing. Congratulations Mariana. You are a failure at life. I slide down the wall and collapse in a puddle of exhaustion. Doctors and maintenance men pass me. No one cares that I am done with it all. One checks me for a pulse and then leaves when he finds it.

I glare at his retreating back but push myself off the floor, reenter the break room to check the schedule, and go to listen to Edward Nigma (The Riddler) whisper his puzzles to me for three hours.

\---------------

I feel like an idiot. I had been off my guard and tired and now everyone paid for it. The Asylum director yells at me but I tune him out and stare at my bloody hands. I don't remember whose blood it is. No one died in the escape attempt but plenty were injured. Guess what that means- more hours for me. Serves me right for letting Scarecrow rattle me. I should have seen that his cuffs weren't on correctly, that he was smug. I saw him coming for me and it didn't click until he grabbed my arm and attacked me, disabled me. I watched him break out of the room using my security codes and didn't send up an alarm for almost a minute. I could have gotten someone killed.

\---------------

The butler lets me in with a look of polite distain. I ignore him and eat my cucumber. The Waynes are all waiting in the solarium again, perfect smiles already in place.

"Dr. Jolie, so glad you made it today! I heard there was trouble at the Asylum." I about throttle Bruce Wayne. His smile is carefree and charming. After today, I want nothing more than to lay in my apartment and sleep. No time for that though.

"A small scuffle, nothing to write home about- though the newspapers seem to think differently." I am keenly aware of the bruises spiraling up my forearm from Scarecrow's hand. They twinge and bite but are hidden under my shirt sleeves. "Who would like to start with me today?

"How about an update on our progress?" Once again, perfect smiles all around.

"I have nothing to say."

He laughs, friendly and booming. "Well, that good!"

"No, it's bad. I wrote down that you are all plastic, perfect little Barbies living in your mansion and that there are definitely secrets hidden underneath your masks." Smiles fade and I get a sick pleasure. "The judge will take one look at my files and determine that you're hiding something and send in investigators, real ones this time. The social workers you got before? Kiddie gloves. They didn't want to offend you. Next time, they'll bring in the big guns." Everyone stares solemnly at me and I suddenly feel as if I have stepped into deep water, thinking it was a puddle.

"And what would it take," Timothy Drake leans forward, eyes cold. "To make your files a bit more affable toward the Wayne family?"

I force my chin up. I will not be intimidated. "A conversation with each of your where you don't smile and laugh like you've been trained to." 

Bruce's smile is back. "Why, Mariana! We don't need training to be friendly. Maybe you've been working too hard. Why don't you take today off? Go get a drink?"

"Call me Mariana again and I will slit your throat and leave your body for the Bat in the streets." Maybe I have been working to hard, but that doesn't mean I am going to let myself be talked to as if I am one of the bimbettes on Bruce Wayne's arm. I have had enough. "You want progress? Take that fake smile off your face. It doesn't suit you anyway."

"What do you want to talk about." Grayson leaned back, acting relaxed.

"What do you think of Gotham? School? Your siblings? What do you-"

"Gotham is damp and disgusting. I miss my old residence. It is too cold here. School is full of idiots and hypocrites and I hate my siblings. Except Grayson."

"Damian!" Dick turned in shock to the boy. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true. Drake is an idiot and I hate him."

"Ditto." Timothy glared from his chair. "About Damian. We hate each other."

"It's just a misunderstanding! If you two would just talk-"

"I'm not going to talk to Drake! I refuse to lower myself to that level."

"You think you're so special! Well you're not! You're just the little bastard that Bruce was too nice to turn away-"

"Timothy." The fight stopped. "That is enough. I would like you to leave, doctor. We have had enough counseling today." He rose and left. Timothy flushed and bolted after. Dick looked torn between following and staying with Damian. He stayed with Damian and followed him out. Cassandra went after Timothy.

I cleaned up my mess and left, feeling the butler's eyes watching me as I exited. But it didn't matter. I had gotten info and I could go home. I could sleep.


	6. A Peek into Minds

The roof was still leaking. But it was in a different spot so the buckets I had left on the ground did nothing. I dropped my jacket, stripped out of my shirt and pants and collapsed onto my bed, bundling myself in blankets. My mind absently noted that my feet weren't covered but I was asleep before I could remedy it.

\------------------------- 

Morning came fast. Which is always a bad thing, but is especially bad when you were supposed to be at work five hours ago. I buttoned my shirt as I ran down the stairs, cold feet slapping the concrete steps, shoes under my armpit and socks dropped somewhere toward the 6th floor. I burst through the door, running into the landlord. He swore and threw a newspaper at me. It was a _Gotham Gazette_. Worthless piece of trash. The car unlocked and I leaped into it and brought it to life. The rev of the engine scared off a few delinquents who'd been lingering near by. The squeal of my tires through the streets woke the rest of the neighbors.

Admittedly, being late to Arkham was not an unusual occurrence for anyone but I hated to be _that_ person. I had standards. Even if I hated my job, I would drag my exhausted corpse there every day and do the best I could. Because, often, that was all that I could do. Work hard and hope beyond all hopes that somehow I had made a difference. I made it past the security gate and snorted aloud at my wishful thinking. Not likely. Arkham would never change.

I walked briskly to the workroom, checked her schedule, and went to work, ignoring the groans as I disappeared.

"Seriously? You didn't quit? Come on, Jolie!"

"Told you, peabrain. She's not just going to quit. You owe me fifty."

\--------------------------

"I have billions of eyes, yet I live in darkness. I have millions of ears, yet only four lobes. I have no muscle, yet I rule two hemispheres. What am I?" The Riddler smiled lopsidedly through the glass. "Come on, doctor. Play a game with me." 

"I'm a psychiatrist. I don't play games."

"All work and no play makes you a very dull girl."

"Good thing I have no one to impress."

Edward Nygma laughed and leaned his chair back. "I do believe everyone has given up on you."

"Do you have anyone to impress, Mr. Nygma?"

"I once thought I could impress my boss, make him see my genius, but he was blind." He laughed, softer. "I had no choice after that. Had to make him see..." His eyes drifted away. "Hey, what is the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of every end and the end of every race?"

"The letter 'E.'"

"Exactly." He laughed and turned to his guards, plying them with riddles. I nodded to them and went through the exit procedures as I left the room.

I had always said Scarecrow was the worst but even Nygma could get to me. It was like he entered my head and forced me to see through his eyes. Perhaps that was the power of riddles, they twisted the mind to see the world in a different way. And I didn't like the view.

\--------------------------

"Alright, lunch break, Mariana." Madi plunked a lunch bag at the break room table. "I insist you eat today."

"I forgot to pack a lunch."

"Then you can share with me."

"No thanks, I'll starve." I dropped my eyes to the bottle in my hands. My fingers were shaking again.

"Uh uh. You haven't eaten in forever. I can tell." She tapped her temple. "Motherly instincts, you know."

"You don't have children, Madi."

"No but I have to parent all you doctors. If you didn't have me to tie your shoes and help you blow your nose, you'd be helpless." A roast beef sandwich appeared in her hands. "Sandwich?"

"I don't eat meat."

"Salad?"

"Can you guarantee that it's organic?"

"I can guarantee there's no fear gas in it."

"Pass." I lifted the bottle again and drank deeply before handing it to the secretary.

She glared and took the bottle. "You can't bribe me."

"I can try."

\----------------------------

Madi was right, I needed to eat. It was a little after 2 A.M. I was off for a while before Dr. Matthews' shift started. Enough time to get through security, find a store, buy food, and get back through security. Hopefully.

Security took ten minutes to get through. I had to suffer through a full body search and gloved fingers in my mouth, thankfully, only my mouth- though the taste of rubber had lessened her appetite. The Humvee took me to a local grocery and I darted into the organic section (distressingly small as it was). A cucumber, a bag of cashews, and sweet potato chips took me five minutes to check out. I tilted my wrist to study the watch on the bottom of my wrist, I was still good on time, I would make it back on time- Oh Hell no. A snarl twisted up my lips and I stalked to my vehicle. And toward the hooligans gathered around it.

"Get away from my car." The kid leaned over the lock jumped back and a few of his friends laughed at his response, even as they watched me warily. One of the older kids sneered at them and swaggered toward me.

"What you going to do? Make us? I'd like to see you try, bit-" His body spasmed from the shock and he dropped to the asphalt groaning. I stepped over the limp form and advanced on the kids. They scattered. I checked for damage to my car-none- and drove back to Arkham Asylum, arriving just in time for my shift.

\-----------------------------

Dick watched the "good doctor" out of the corner of his eye as she wrote on her clipboard. He had seen her handiwork last night. Bruce hadn't seemed to care but it made him slightly disturbed to envision a psychiatrist with a taser. Or particularly, being so willing and quick to use one. He studied her features. Haggard would be the word to describe them. Skin stretched over bone, shadows around the pale, deathly eyes, and full lips that were always dry and lifeless. The white stubble on her head just added to the image. Dr. Mariana Jolie was literally a dead woman walking. An effect he had seen in others from Arkham.

"Grayson, what would you say is your goal in life?"

A smile leapt onto his face. "Do good, help people. Be a hero. normal stuff, you know?"

"If you consider hero syndrome normal..." She wrote more on her clipboard.

"Woah. Wait, I have a syndrome now? Everyone wants to be a hero-"

"You have a tendency to look for the most vulnerable people in the area and avail yourself to them. And once you find someone more needy, you drop who ever you were rescuing before. I've seen articles on you, your sibling have been forthcoming." Dick sent a glare toward his brothers. Damian met his eyes with a raised brow. Timothy looked away. "You want to be a hero almost more than you want to help people. Tell me, did you ever fail? Have you ever not saved someone that you loved?" The tired pale eyes watched him and Dick hated it.

"Yeah. I did fail. You know my history, right? Star of the circus. Loved by my family. My family who died in front of my eyes. And I couldn't save them. Is that what you were looking for?" Dick stood and stormed away but the doctor's voice stopped him in the doorway.

"You were a child. Things happen that are more than you can plan for or prevent. That is the misfortune of life. Yes, you have a saving people thing, but you use it well. Now that you know you have it, I would suggest you try to be more aware. Don't always go with your instincts. Stop and think about who you may be hurting." Dick leaned his forehead onto the cherrywood doorpost.

"Do they actually teach psychiatrists to help people or just to diagnose them?"

"To help them. Unfortunately for you, I failed that portion of the test. Damian, tell me about your mother." Dick laughed in a way that wasn't funny at all and left.

\--------------------------

Timothy watched his brother leave and swore internally. He shouldn't have talked. If he had just kept his mouth closed, Dick wouldn't be mad. He would't speak again to her. He hadn't meant to speak to her! It was just... the timbre of the voice, the soothing manner of talk, the promise of a listening ear (though that promise was always a lie) was something he was very used to. How many times had he sat through family therapy with his parents (mostly because of their marriage), how many times had he sat through therapy after what the Joker had done to him? How many times had he gone to a shrink himself, just to assure himself that he wasn't crazy. Timothy had practically trained himself to speak whenever the doctor voice came on. The Psychiatrist from Metropolis said that there must have been trauma in his past, making him more susceptible to the "caring" tone of voice. Try getting brainwashed by a psychopath and being forced to kill your mentor. How's that for trauma? He rubbed at his skull and tried to avoid Cass's eyes.

She always knew what was up. She always could sense his moods. Thank Gotham she didn't speak much or he'd be pouring out his sorrows to her too. Cass scooted closer and lightly touched his thigh. He let her and listened to Damian sing praises about his psycho mother.


End file.
